


Patience is Bitter, But its Fruit is Mad Sweet, Like a Swole Grape

by youmockussir



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Board Games, Drinking Games, Fluff, Humor, M/M, strip uno oh my god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22791676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youmockussir/pseuds/youmockussir
Summary: Set during the events of Episodes 114, 115, 116 "Council Member Flynn"There is a criminal on the loose, and Night Vale has mandatory curfew. There's only so much a couple can do before they start to get a little stir-crazy.
Relationships: Carlos/Cecil Palmer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	Patience is Bitter, But its Fruit is Mad Sweet, Like a Swole Grape

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of recreational drugs, drinking games, and implied sexual content. Also, a worm.

By the time Cecil came home, the living room was swarming with half a dozen secret police. One of them was shoving a dime bag of something green into a large ziploc baggie labelled “Contraband.” _What._

His husband was standing facing the wall, hands raised as if mid-jumping-jack. A different secret police officer was patting him down slowly. In Cecil’s opinion, a little too slowly. 

“Hey!” Cecil cried. “What’s going on here?”

A few secret police officers turned to look lazily at him. Sheriff Sam sauntered into the living room, tape recorder in one hand, a set of watercolors in the other. 

“Oh, hello Cessil,” purred Sheriff Sam.

“Cecil.” Cecil said shortly.

“Cessil,” Sam continued, “How kind of you to finally join us. We just came by to take a gander at your possessions.” They glanced at Carlos, who was _still_ being patted down by an officer. 

Cecil glared at the Sheriff. “Don’t you have more important things to be doing? What with the criminals on the loose and all.”

The Sheriff smirked. “Why, yes, Cessil-” 

“Cecil-”

“I was just minding my own business, listening to the radio and creating a watercolor of predictive policing precincts, when I heard about an illegal substance in possession of a one Cessil Palmer.”

They pressed play on the recorder, and Cecil’s voice could be heard from the day’s earlier broadcast.

_“...It’s actually enjoyable to turn in early each night. I’ve got an Xbox, a VR helmet, some vegetation that is toootally legal, and Susan Wilman’s HBO Go password…”_

_Shit._ He really did have an oversharing-on-the-radio problem.

“Aha!” cried the secret police officer who was being way too thorough with Carlos. They held up a single black pen. “Illegal paraphernalia!”

In the kitchen, the secret police were now going through their fridge, using tongs to move their kale salad mix into a different “Contraband” bag. The tallest of the group shook their head disapprovingly. _Tsk tsk._

Cecil sat down hard on the bean bag chair and put his head in his hands. He felt a migraine coming on.

* * *

Carlos drowsily thumped his hand around the bedside table, looking for his glasses. Once they were back on his face, he checked the time. 69. Nice. He looked out the window, and based on the light and the screeching noises of the sun, he guessed it was around six in the morning. 

He rolled over to pull Cecil in tighter. His arm, though, hit the mattress without making any contact. Carlos frowned, and tried again. He flopped his arm around, again unable to find his husband. 

Carlos hypothesized Cecil was not in the bed. He used his face eyes to collect the data that there was no one else in the bed. Based on this evidence, Carlos concluded that Cecil was not in the bed. He frowned. 

“Cecil?” Carlos called, wrapping his sleeping lab coat around himself tighter as he shuffled into the hallway. 

“In here,” came a muffled voice from the living room. 

Carlos trudged in to find Cecil wrapped up in a blanket burrito, eyes glued to the TV. 

“Oh hon, did you stay out here all night?” Carlos wrapped his arms around his husband. 

“Yeah,” Cecil said, eyes slightly red. “I’ve been binge watching Chernobyl. You know how much I love a good rom com! I just lost track of the time.”

Carlos opened up the blanket roll so he could step inside, closing it behind him. “It happens to the best of us. And, the time is 69.”

“Nice,” said Cecil, offering stale popcorn to his husband. 

* * *

“I can’t believe they took my weed,” sighed Cecil, a few weeks into the curfew. 

“I can’t believe they found my _pen,_ ” said Carlos. “Do you even know where I was hiding it?”

“Unfortunately.”

* * *

Carlos stacked a couple of red solo cups on the table. 

“So that’s how you play relays!” Carlos explained. “I played it a lot in my undergrad at M̸̨͙͍͉̯̬̭͇̙̋͂.̴̹͊͑͋́͑̏̿̎I̸̳̝͎͋̏̊̂̽͑͌̚ͅ.̴͎̘͖̖̞͍̮̠̖̓͜T̸̖̖̗̥͛͐͗̑́̄̑̊̕͝.̵̨̞͍̳̱͕͍͎͐͊̾͊̿͐̋̔̔͘ͅ. “ 

Cecil barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Carlos really liked to namedrop where he pursued his bachelors. It was a little, as the degree said, B.S.

Carlos filled a couple of the cups with orange milk, and a couple with some of Erika’s moonshine. It was definitely preferred to Erika’s moonshine, but you could not, under any circumstances, tell them that. 

“All set up! Are you ready?”

Cecil smirked, “Are you ready to lose?”

“On your mark, get bloodlet, go!” Both men dashed to the table. 

Carlos was already on to the third task by the time Cecil finished chopping up his first onion. Tears streaming down his face, he watched as Carlos balanced the cup on his beautiful head and steadily power-walked to the end of the table. He knew that if he wanted to win, he had to play dirty. 

“Water is nonpolar!” Cecil cried, and Carlos gasped, sending the cup and its contents tumbling to the floor. 

“How could you?!” But it was already too late. Cecil used the extra time to finish the incantation that would bring the second cup to his lips, and now began to secure the cup on his head. 

The couple glided across the floor, neck-and-neck. Both finished that drink, and moved on to the next set of cups. 

Unsurprisingly, Cecil was better at mini-pong than Carlos was. Each of his five eggs splunked into their corresponding cup, and he was on to the “erotic Of Mice and Men reading” part in no time. 

Carlos knew he didn’t stand a chance. 

* * *

As it turns out, there is a limit to how many games of strip uno a couple can play. That limit is 21. When Carlos threatened to shave his own head, the game was abandoned rather quickly. 

This abrupt stop could also be attributed to the lack of clothes on either competitor. It was hard to say.

* * *

“Rent!” Cecil hollered. “Mission Grove Park, that’s mine! Pay up! Three hundred dollars!”

Carlos groaned and looked at his assets. He had all the green properties, several subways, and $240. He considered his options.

“Oh no!” Carlos sighed dramatically. “What ever will I do? It seems I can’t afford to pay for rent at this wonderful hotel.” He looked into Cecil’s eyes, unbuttoning his flannel and biting his lip. “Maybe,” Carlos moaned, “I could pay in some other… favors.” He spread his legs a little. 

Cecil paused, licking his lips. “Sir, that is in direct violation of the Night Vale Realtor’s Code. I’m going to need those $300.”

Carlos groaned again, slumping back down onto the floor. “Fine,” he huffed, and mortgaged the Dog Park. 

The dice rolled, and the iron top hat moved a few spaces onto the Desert Creek Housing Development. 

“Ah! Finally! Rent! Rent! Rent!” Carlos grinned. 

“I don’t even pay rent in real life, why would you expect me to do it now?” The Faceless Old Woman secretly living in their home asked. Instead of paying rent, she put a worm on the Monopoly board, right where free parking should be. 

“Seriously, though,” said The Faceless Old Woman. “Keep it in your pants. This is a family game.”

* * *

_Night Vale, Janice and Tamika are growing up before our eyes, and I couldn’t be prouder of either. But more importantly, I couldn’t be more excited to get out of the house! Carlos and I are headed straight to dinner at the Shallow Grave, and then going dancing at that new club, Numb, which opened up mere minutes after the curfew was lifted._

_Stay tuned next to the sound of two men putting on just the most vicious outfits._

_Good night,_

_Night Vale,_

_Good night._

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I listen to WTNV while I go to bed. This work was inspired by the note that I left for myself, half asleep, while sort-of listening to episode 114, verbatim as follows:
> 
> "strip uno oh my god"
> 
> Edit: 3/17 wow this turned out to be very relevant to my life :/


End file.
